


the last time

by epoenine



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Fights, M/M, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-21 23:50:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1568387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epoenine/pseuds/epoenine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Can we talk?” Enjolras asks, and shit. His voice is not breaking but already broken, and his hair is wet, but only a little, and Grantaire stiffly nods. “We could go for a walk,” Enjolras suggests, even though it’s raining, even though it’s 6:57 am, even though Grantaire is dressed in thin, blue and green flannel pants and a black t-shirt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the last time

It’s Tuesday, and that’s Grantaire’s least favorite day, and maybe Sunday, too, since that’s when he and Enjolras screamed at each other until their voices were raw. That ruined Sundays for him.

It’s Tuesday, and it’s 6:43 am, and the sun has already risen over the tall buildings, casting an orange glow on the Seine. It’s raining out, and there’s fog clouding around the buildings. But Grantaire wouldn’t know that, since he’s laying, twisted in his sheets and trying not to think about Sunday. He thinks about Sunday anyway, and he smokes half a pack of cigarettes.

It’s Tuesday, and there’s knocking at his door, and as much as he wants to lay in bed and not answer it, his neighbors will file a complaint.

“I swear to God, if you’re going to sell me something--” Grantaire says, swinging the front door open, and he goes quiet.

“Grantaire--”

“Enjolras,” he cuts the man off, setting his jaw and dropping his eyes. Grantaire leans against the doorframe, suddenly tired, definitely not wanting to have this conversation.

“Can we talk?” Enjolras asks, and shit. His voice is not breaking but already broken, and his hair is wet, but only a little, and Grantaire stiffly nods. “We could go for a walk,” Enjolras suggests, even though it’s raining, even though it’s 6:57 am, even though Grantaire is dressed in thin, blue and green flannel pants and a black t-shirt.

Grantaire slips on shoes and a jacket before heading out the door, into the rain with Enjolras. It’s only drizzling, catching on a few wild curls that fall into Grantaire’s face, a smattering of damp fabric on Grantaire’s dark green jacket, but that’s it.

“What do you want?” Grantaire asks, not looking at Enjolras, following the edge of the Seine. He can see his breath as he exhales.

“I want to apologize,” Enjolras says, and he reaches out for Grantaire’s wrist to get his attention. “I’m sorry,” he says, and Grantaire pulls his hand away.

“Are you really, Enjolras?” Grantaire questions, turning to face him. He meets his eyes, distractedly noticing how gray they are against the pale sky. “Because, as I recall, you were sorry the time before this, and the time before that, _and_ you were sorry the time before that, too.” He pauses, and Enjolras is silent. “Do you even know what you’re sorry for?” he asks, quietly.

“For yelling, for saying things that I didn’t mean--”

“I could care less that you yelled,” Grantaire starts. “Or that you spoke the truth.” Enjolras opens his mouth to protest, but Grantaire cuts him off. “That’s not it.” Enjolras closes his mouth and steps back. “God, Enjolras, I just--” Grantaire stops. “I’m tired. I’m so fucking _tired_ of being second to everything.”

“I know, and I’m--” Enjolras stammers.

“Don’t apologize,” Grantaire says bitterly. “Don’t fucking apologize, not again. You keep doing this and I--and I _can’t_ anymore. I can’t be a second choice, okay?”

Enjolras doesn’t say anything, just chooses to keep his eyes fixed on the shining pavement at his feet.

“It’s fucking cold, are we done here?” Grantaire asks, crossing his arms. Enjolras shakes his head, desperately trying to form words. Always, he’s been able to form speeches in less than a minute, yet now he loses his coherency at the most important time, he’s speechless. “Then what do you want, Enjolras?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “Please, Grantaire--I fucked up,” he states, pursing his lips. His eyes are desperately willing Grantaire to meet them. “I know that now.” He huffs, looking out to the fog over the Seine. “Fuck, I,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his damp hair.  

“I’d like to go back inside,” Grantaire says, nodding towards the direction of the apartment. “Hurry up, I don’t want to get a cold.”

Enjolras pulls in a deep breath. “Please, another chance. It’ll be better this time, I swear. I’ll fix it--”

“Jesus Christ, Enjolras, you can’t _fix_ everything,” Grantaire snaps. His face is pulled into a scowl, half of a glare, and he isn’t looking at Enjolras.

Grantaire turns to leave, but Enjolras says, “Wait,” in a voice that is barely audible over the rain, a whisper of a sob that makes Grantaire’s breastbone ache. “Please, stay.”

“Why should I?” Grantaire asks, arching an eyebrow. His arms are crossed, defensively, and he’s hunching, like he’s pulled in on himself.

Enjolras is quiet for a few moments, before he says, “I don’t--I don’t know what I’d do without you. I don’t know how to _be_ without you. I swear to God, R, please give me another chance.”

Grantaire’s shoulders sags, like he’s defeated, and he looks at the ground, worrying his bottom lip. “I can make coffee back at mine,” he offers, shrugging as he continues, “If you go back to your apartment now it’ll just wake Combeferre up.”

Visibly, Enjolras relaxes, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Grantaire looks at him, all the bitterness gone as the corners of his lips turn up into something resembling a small smile.

“Come here,” Grantaire murmurs, arms opened for Enjolras to step into them, resting his forehead against Grantaire’s shoulder. He breathes out, a shudder running through his body, and that’s when he realizes how cold it is. “Let’s go inside,” he suggests, grabbing Enjolras’s hand. “Yeah?”

Enjolras nods, turning away until Grantaire puts his fingers under his chin, tipping his face upwards so he can pull him into a kiss. Their lips are cold pressed against each other, but the breath they spill into the other’s mouth is hot.

“I love you,” Enjolras says when he presses his face into Grantaire’s neck, his voice barely a whisper. Grantaire’s fingers are brushing Enjolras’s hair back, moving the damp curls out of his face.

With a tiredness that’s expected but still full of remorse, Grantaire responds, “And I, you.”

**Author's Note:**

> based off of taylor swift's "the last time" if you didn't figure that out  
> this was rly sad?? im sorry  
> find me on tumblr at prouvairie  
> omg i was facetiming my girlfriend when i posted it im sry for the last of summary and the horrid spelling errors i didn't reread it ahh i hope you liked it bc i sure didn't it was sad


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